


There's No Antidote

by waroftheposes



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waroftheposes/pseuds/waroftheposes
Summary: There were many things Louis could make Philippe do. He could make Philippe fly across the world with a single command, he could make Philippe pick and choose careers at his whim, he could even — on one fateful occasion — convince Philippe to get an outrageous haircut.But Philippe had never thought his brother could control his love life.





	There's No Antidote

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the melodrama of a Harry Styles song.

Philippe wanders the reception hall without purpose, smiling at acquaintances. The fundraiser is held for some politician’s campaign, one who's going to make it harder for taxi unions to strike. Or wait… is it the one who’s promising to lower taxes for foreign business ventures? Philippe can’t remember and he can’t be bothered to remember. He doesn’t even want to talk to most of the people in this room. He can hear his brother’s tirade in his head: “ _I needed you there with me, smiling and talking to people, where were you?”_ He shrugs at imaginary Louis’ anger and walks into the garden.

The night air is a welcome change to the stifling atmosphere of the fundraiser. There are people out here as well, groups chatting in a more relaxed manner than their counterparts inside. These are people who are forced to be here, just like Philippe; unlike Philippe, they have still managed to enjoy themselves.

Philippe finds a bench and sits on it, closing his eyes and breathing out a sigh. He’s been here for over an hour, and so far there’s been no sign of trouble. Philippe generally does not like fundraisers, but he attends them without fuss, because that’s what Louis wants. So when he had opposed coming to this one so vehemently, Louis had become suspicious. He’d pestered Philippe for hours, trying to find the cause of the displeasure.

Philippe had let him. He’d sat in front of his brother as the latter prodded, and replayed another scene in his head.

_“Either you break up with him or you’re alone.”_

Philippe had reasoned, when Louis gave up and left him to his own devices, that his brother had learned to be content with not knowing everything about Philippe’s life.

The next day Henriette had unwittingly revealed Philippe’s secret to Louis. She had been looking over the guest list. "I didn't know Monsieur de Lorraine and his family were coming," she uttered, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “Why are they coming? They’re not even American.”

Without thinking, Philippe had responded “Monsieur de Lorraine invested a shit ton of money in the 90s to get an EB-5 visa and got green cards for his wife and kids. He can donate all he wants.”

Louis had nodded then, and said something about Monsieur de Lorraine’s business ventures in America, and how this specific politician would help those ventures. Then he’d turned to Philippe.

“Did you know they were coming?” Louis had asked after a pause.

“I did,” Philippe answered. “Your secretary sent me the guest list two days ago.”

Louis had looked up then, catching his brother’s eye. “When was this?”

Philippe had shrugged. “I don’t remember,” he had answered. “You were in a meeting about a merger with another company?”

Louis had sighed, looking unhappy. “You know it worries me that you know so little detail about what I actually do.”

“You boss around a bunch of people, they do actual work, some cars move around cities, you get money,” Philippe had answered. “I know what you do.”

Louis had looked so very angry. “And what do you do?”

“Grunt work,” Philippe had sighed. He had looked at Henriette then. “Thanks for telling him about the de Lorraines though. Now he’s even more annoyed.”

Louis had stayed silent for a while, then. “Are you avoiding the de Lorraines now?”

“Why did you think I didn’t want to come?”

“Because you like to be an ass?” Louis had looked from Henriette to Philippe and sighed. “It doesn’t matter. You’re coming to the fundraiser and that’s final.”

There was a time when Philippe would have fought his brother on this, but these days he is too exhausted to even protest.

So he is here, at a fundraiser for a politician he doesn’t know, in a house he doesn’t want to be in, and possibly only a wall or two away from the love of his miserable life.

Well, previous love of his miserable life. Philippe no longer has such a luxury.

Philippe hears brisk footsteps and, a moment later, someone sits down next to him.

“Your brother figured out that you left the party,” Liselotte informs him. “He keeps throwing angry glances at me. I don’t understand why, _I’m_ not your girlfriend.”

Philippe glances sidelong at her. “Neither is Henriette.”

In response to this, Liselotte snorts.

“She isn’t,” Philippe says. “Not really.”

When she only looks at him knowingly, Philippe sighs and sits up straight. “So you’re here to drag me back into the room?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Liselotte responds. “I can see you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding,” Philippe protests.

“Oh?”

He sighs. He can’t lie to her, she can see right through him. “I’m hiding.”

She pats his shoulder gently. “I know... I’m sorry.”

Biting his lip, Philippe looks down the path towards the house. “Have you seen him?”

Liselotte doesn’t respond.

“Lizzie,” he entreats. He hates how pathetic he sounds, but it’s only Liselotte and it’s ok to show weakness to her.

“I saw him,” she sighs. “I was standing near him, but he didn’t say hi. He didn’t even look at me or acknowledge me, he just walked away.”

Liselotte looks upset enough that Philippe wraps a hand around her shoulders.

“I can’t believe he gave me up in the divorce.”

Philippe thinks she’s trying to make a joke but neither of them laughs. “You can’t divorce someone you never married,” he says bitterly.

“No,” she agrees.

They sit together in silence. Philippe is unable to come up with a conversation topic that does not concern the man he is currently avoiding. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been able to think or speak of anything other than him for the past six months. He is not sure why Liselotte is quiet.

After a moment, she rests her head on his shoulder. “You aren’t going to get over this,” she says, sounding dejected.

“What?”

“This, him,” she clarifies. “It’s been six months, and you’ve been miserable.”

Philippe sighs. “What do you propose I do?”

“Admit it to yourself,” she responds, raising her head. “Be honest about your feelings.”

“And what good is that going to do?” Philippe asks her, feeling annoyed.

“I’m not sure,” Liselotte responds. “Why did Louis make you do it?”

Philippe turns to her, a bit annoyed, ready to say that Louis had no hand in the break-up. But he can’t tell her that. It would be a lie. “Because he wants to control me,” Philippe answers bitterly. “Because he wants to make Henriette happy so he can do business with her brother.”

Lisolette nods. “Is Henriette actually happy?”

Philippe is about to answer her when he sees another figure walk towards them. His heart rate picks up for a second while the person is still in shadows, but as the figure approaches he sees that it’s Henriette.

She looks at Philippe and Liselotte and sighs. “She would have made a much better girlfriend for you,” Henriette says. “Whatever, your brother wants to talk to you.”

Philippe glares at her. “Tell him where I am.”

“I’m not your messenger,” she responds.

“You are his, though,” Philippe says and feels a trickle of pleasure at her annoyed look.

“He wants you back in the hall,” Henriette says impatiently.

Philippe is ready to tell her to fuck off when Liselotte stands. “Well, guess we shouldn’t keep him waiting, right?” She extends a hand to Philippe. “Come on then.”

Philippe looks from her to Henriette, and takes the offered hand reluctantly.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers to Liselotte as they re-enter the hall.

Louis doesn't want to talk him, he glances over when Philippe enters the hall, nods and goes back to his conversation. Philippe looks pointedly at Henriette, then drags Liselotte to the bar.

He hears the voice as they’re walking to the bar and stops in his tracks. His grip tightens on Liselotte’s arm.

“You’re hurting me,” she whispers to him. He slackens his grip.

“Lizzie,” he says. His eyes, having found the source of the voice, refuse to budge. “Take my arm and haul me out of here.”

“He won’t talk to you,” she sighs. “He probably won’t even acknowledge your presence.”

Philippe doesn’t answer her. He doesn’t want her to know how that fear alone is the reason he’s been dreading this stupid fundraiser. He doesn’t know if she’ll understand that the idea of coming face to face with the man he’s loved since he was sixteen and having him walk away _again_ terrifies the fuck out of him.

“Come on, Philippe,” she says, and gently takes his hand, resuming their walk to the bar.

They stand there after ordering their drinks, each holding a flute of champagne, and Liselotte — god bless her soul — chatters away. Philippe doesn’t really listen, his eyes still fixed on the blonde figure.

“Do you want him to acknowledge your presence?” She asks finally.

Instead of responding to her, Philippe shrugs.

“You do, don’t you?” Liselotte asks, her voice taking on a new understanding. “You’re a fucking masochist.”

Philippe shrugs again. His eyes darting towards her. “It’d be nice to hear his voice again,” he says pathetically, like the pathetic loser that he is.

Liselotte nods. “You know,” she says thoughtfully, “eventually he’s going to look this way.”

“No,” Philippe whispers. “He’s avoiding this general direction.”

“Huh,” she says and seems to make a decision. Then she raises her hand and yells, “Chevy!” across the room.

The blonde figure turns, his eyes wide in surprise. Philippe turned towards her, indignant. Everyone in the room must have heard Liselotte’s shout, which is probably what she’d been going for. When she catches Chevy’s eye, she beckons him forward. Looking uncertain, he takes a step towards Liselotte and Philippe.

Flabbergasted, Philippe whispers. “Why would you do that?”

“Your moping was evolving from pathetic into straight-up creepy,” she responds, smile in place. To the approaching Chevy she says, “Hello, dear, I haven’t seen you all night.”

Philippe’s eyes drop to Chevy’s feet, and his heart thunders terribly at each step. When Chevy is only a few feet away, Philippe turns around, unable to handle the proximity. He takes a step in an away direction, intent on running, except Liselotte’s hand wraps around his wrist and glues him to place.

“Lizzie.”

Philippe shivers at the sound of that voice, so close, a mere breath away, after months of absence. He feels like a drowning man, longing for air in a raging sea. Closing his eyes, he brings the champagne glass up to his lips and takes a sip.

“So good to see you,” Liselotte responds. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

Chevy laughs. Philippe bites his own lip.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here either,” he pauses. “Actually, I wasn’t important enough for a guest list.”

Philippe swallows. The implications in that statement are clear. Attempting to subtly detach himself from Liselotte, Philippe tries to take another step.

“No one sent me a guest list either,” she responds, her grip tightening on Philippe’s arm. “Did you get one, Philippe?”

Philippe is going to murder her. He doesn’t care that she is his best friend, doesn’t care that she’s been there for him these past five years, that she’s the only thing that has kept him together for the past six months. He’ll do it without even blinking.

“I did,” he says and steeling himself, he turns around. His eyes catch Chevy’s and whatever breath was left in his lungs leaves them.

He remembers his sister-in-law saying, after:

_“There will be others.”_

_“Not like him,” Philippe had replied._

His eyes catch Philippe’s for a second before they dart away, and in that instant Philippe can see hesitance. Not anger, not hatred, but hesitance.

“The organizer sent it to Louis,” Philippe continues. After he took that first step and looked at Chevy, he thinks he won’t be able to look away. “But Louis doesn’t read that stuff, so his secretary sent it to me.”

Chevy’s mouth forms a perfect “o” and Philippe can see Liselotte nodding from his side.

“Of course,” Philippe says, “he made me tell him the people that were going to be here after he found out that—” Philippe stops, unable to find the right words to express his brother’s insistence on knowing why Philippe had kept the de Lorraine family’s attendance a secret. “ — That um, certain people were not invited.” A lie. Lies are easy.

“I see,” Chevy says, still not looking at Philippe. “Great, well— ”

Liselotte cuts him off. “My mother is calling me,” she says, and when Philippe looks over he finds her holding her vibrating phone. “I have to take this, I’ll be back,” she says and is suddenly gone, leaving Philippe alone with Chevy.

They stand there, bereft without her. Philippe looks above Chevy’s blue eyes at his drawn eyebrows. Chevy’s stare is fixed on the ground. Philippe is unsure whether he should say something or leave. He wants to do neither, and so keeps silent.

After an entire sixty seconds of men standing awkwardly together, Chevy clears his throat.

“Well, I should—”

Philippe interrupts him. “How are you?”

The question surprises Chevy enough that he looks at Philippe. “Excuse me?” he says, and doesn’t answer.

“Your… health,” Philippe forces out. “Is it good?”

Chevy snorts. “No.”

Philippe’s heart skips a beat. “You’re sick?”

“No.”

Philippe understands. He nods, and falls silent.

Then, “How is your girlfriend?” Chevy asks.

It is Philippe’s turn to snort. “I’m not sure. Have you seen her this evening?”

Chevy narrows his eyes, and his gaze burns. “She’s _your_ girlfriend.”

This time the silence is stifling, made more unbearable by the fact that Philippe wants to reach out, to touch Chevy’s cheek with his own fingers. He wants to hold Chevy close and ask whether he’s missed him.

“I’m sorry, Philippe,” Chevy says finally. “This is really difficult for me. I’m going to go.”

Philippe, unable to talk, nods and watches him leave. Chevy’s disappearance in the crowd leaves Philippe exhausted, as if suddenly all the air has been sucked out of his body. He glances towards his brother, who hasn’t talked to him once tonight, and makes the decision to leave. He sends Liselotte a quick text and walks out of the hall.

\--

When Philippe had declared as a business major upon enrolling at university, it had not been because he had much care for business. His brother had thought it best that Philippe be well-versed in running a company, so that he could participate when needed. Philippe had objected then, profusely, but in the end, Louis had won.

Louis always wins.

Still, working for his brother means he gets to travel to France once in awhile, and Philippe really likes France. As a youth he spent a lot of time in Paris, and when it came time for him to go to university, he’d elected a British school instead of an American one so he could visit France regularly.

That had been for Chevy’s sake, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Now that he and Chevy are no longer together, visiting France feels like visiting any other country.

Despite it all, Paris is wonderful. Philippe is there less than a month after the fundraiser for a meeting his brother could not attend. When he’s done with his meeting he decides to go to his favorite cafe. It’s only after a very recognizable female voice has called his name that he remembers he knows many people in Paris who also love this cafe.

He turns around with a smile to greet Athenais, but the smile falls once he sees that she is not alone. Chevy is sitting with her, looking like all Philippe’s fantasies collected in one person. His blonde hair is cut short, his curls are perfect and he’s grown a light beard.

Philippe mentally curses, but walks towards their table.

“Hi,” Athenais says cheerfully. “What the hell are you doing in Paris?”

Philippe sits and forces himself to smile at both Chevy and Athenais. “Meetings and shit. Louis couldn’t make it.”

Athenais nods, “And how are you?”

“Fine.” Philippe shrugs.

“And how is your brother?” She asks, smiling.

“No,” Chevy interjects. “I don’t want to talk about Louis.”

Philippe looks at him — it hurts to look at him but Philippe does so — thoughtfully. “I don’t either. He’s still a grade-A fuckhead, if you were wondering, so nothing new on that front.”

Athenais huffs, but doesn’t push the topic. Instead she asks, “How’s Henriette?”

Philippe is watching Chevy intently and sees him flinch. “She’s fine,” Philippe says, annoyed. He hates the hurt look on Chevy’s face and the curious one on Athenais’. On a whim he says. “Still in love with Louis, but what else is new?”

“What?” Athenais exclaims so loudly that several people in the cafe turn to look at her.

“What?”

Cocking her head to the side, Athenais answers. “It seemed to me like you said your girlfriend was in love with your brother.”

Philippe nods. “I did.”

Chevy looks curiously between Athenais and Philippe.

“And you’re ok with that because...?” Athenais asks, looking put off.

“Because she’s not my girlfriend.” It’s the first time he’s said this to anyone that isn’t Liselotte and it feels so very good to say it. Philippe tries to make it sound matter-of-fact, like letting this truth out into the world hasn’t lifted a burden from his shoulder.

Chevy looks confused but Athenais becomes distressed. “You broke up?”

“We were never dating, Athenais,” he responds quickly, feeling a bit annoyed. “She’s not my girlfriend. It’s just pretend.”

“Huh,” Athenais says, and really she shouldn’t be as surprised or confused as she is. She had seen Henriette looking at Louis, even if she had never known that Philippe and Chevy were together. Connecting the dots shouldn’t be this difficult.

Shaking his head, Philippe continues. “How could I date her? She’s like my sister.”

“So… why?” Athenais asks.

Philippe shrugs, “It’s what Louis wanted.”

“And what Louis wants, Louis gets, right?” Chevy says icily. “No one is ever going to say no to that man.”

There is contempt in his voice, and anger, and Philippe feels his heart fall like a stone. “Would you?” He asks, in return. He doesn’t know how to get rid of the annoyance that has laced his own voice.

Chevy stands up, and pats Athenais on the shoulder. “I have,” he says and walks away.

Philippe watches him go, and when he turns around, he changes the subject.

Athenais can know some of his secrets but not all.

\--

There were many things Louis could make Philippe do. He could make Philippe fly across the world with a single command, he could make Philippe pick and choose careers at his whim, he could even — on one fateful occasion — convince Philippe to get an outrageous haircut.

But Philippe had never thought his brother could control his love life.

Philippe had barely landed back in New York when Chevy’s father invited the Bourbon brothers to a dinner at his Paris estate. Under Louis’s command, there had been no question that Philippe would attend. This time, Philippe hadn’t even protested. The anticipation of seeing Chevy again had given him hope. Yet, seeing him was a different thing altogether. Chevy had stayed only for dinner, had made companionable conversation with those around him, but when the dinner was over and the wine brought in, he’d left the room. Now, Philippe is holding a glass of white wine, standing next to a white pillar and looking intently at the mosaic floor. The conversation around him is subdued; the kind of conversation a group of people who have known each other for years have. He does not wish to join the conversation, so he stands alone, thinking.

 _Find Chevy,_ he thinks, over and over. They’d met before Philippe could remember, probably as actual fetuses, if mothers are to be believed. They’d become inseparable by thirteen. At sixteen, Philippe had dared himself to pull Chevy away at a dinner party and kiss him senseless.

 _Get down on your knees,_ his mind continues, _and beg forgiveness._

The thing is, Philippe’s not sure how to explain his brother’s involvement in his love life to Chevy. Chevy knew that Louis had never meddled Philippe’s love life. They’d often talked about how Louis was picky about everything in Philippe’s life, but Philippe’s relationship with Chevy had been of no concern for him.

_Maybe if you cry he’ll take you back._

Philippe looks around the living room. No one is looking at him.

 _If you go now, you might be able to find him before anyone notices._ Philippe has been to the de Lorraine estate several times. The first time he came here, the whole family was away, and he and Chevy spent weeks learning every corner of it. Philippe looks up at the door then, thinking intently.

When Louis had decided that he did in fact care about Philippe’s romantic interests, Philippe had gotten so angry he’d almost hit his brother. He remembers now, how he’d walked away from his brother’s office, his face angry, his hands balled up into fists. He had promised himself that his brother’s demands meant nothing to him anymore, that his brother meant nothing to him anymore.

Could he tell all of this to Chevy? Would Chevy listen?

Philippe sighs at the turn of events, then thanks his stars that Henriette isn’t around. He feels slight satisfaction when he remembers her indignation at not being invited.

“But Maria Teresa gets to go,” she had protested.

“It says family only.” Philippe shouldn’t have been so satisfied to see her dismayed; she’d been one of his best friends once.

 _You coward_ , Philippe thinks. He remembers the fundraiser last month, remembers Liselotte telling him how he wouldn’t get over this. He thinks it’s probably not healthy that he hasn’t gotten over his ex in the past six months.

He remembers reading though, that it took two years to get over each year you were with someone. He and Chevy had been together for eight years. It’s going to take him sixteen years to get over the fucking bastard.

Or was it six months for each year?

Philippe can’t remember.

Still, Liselotte was right. She’s always right. Philippe needs to face the facts. He’s in love with a man that he broke up with, a man whose heart he broke, a man who is probably never going to take him back.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Philippe can’t breathe.

He sets the wine glass down forcefully on a side table and raises his hand to his neck. His heart is beating very fast, too fast for him to be able to take in oxygen. In a moment, he thinks he might die, that his heart will beat itself into the ground, that there’s nothing he can do but stand there as his heart thumps and his lungs don’t fill. Philippe’s body heats up, he thinks his vision might be swaying.

 _Breathe,_ he tells himself as his heart hammers on, _you just have to keep breathing._

Slowly, as Philippe takes large steadying breaths, his heartbeat slows down and he can think again.

Once the attack has passed, Philippe leaves the dining room, casting a quick glance around to make sure no one notices him. He means to find a bathroom to splash some water on his face. Instead he finds himself in the foyer, climbing up the main staircase to the second floor. The hallway is dark, but Philippe knows where he is going. He takes a left turn as he reaches the landing, then walks past five doors, two on his right, three on his left. At the end of the hallway there is a large window with the bust of a dead relative in front of it. Philippe ignores the bust, opens the window and climbs out. The window is easy to climb, and gives access to a balcony on the roof. Philippe climbs up the sides, finding footholds as he goes along.

Chevy is sitting at the top, his tie undone, smoking a cigarette. When Philippe gets up on the balcony, Chevy glances sideways at him, then takes a long drag from his cigarette.

“That thing’s bad for you,” Philippe says. He dares himself to walk towards Chevy, to take a seat next to him. “It’s a death stick.”

Chevy takes a long, pointed drag from his cigarette. “Not in France,” he says, voice impassive. “In France it’s just a thing you do.”

“In America, we consider health benefits,” Philippe replies. “Put it away.”

Chevy looks back at Philippe, his eyes cold. “Make me.”

Philippe sighs. “Chev,” he says, but he has nothing else to add. A year ago, he would have said he didn’t want to kiss Chevy’s smoke laced lips. Now he has nothing. He wants to reach out and pluck the cigarette from Chevy’s hand, but his own won’t obey him.

They sit in silence until the cigarette runs out. Chevy throws the stump into the darkness, then turns to Philippe. “What are you doing here?” He asks.

Philippe shrugs. “The room was too hot, I needed some fresh air.”

Chevy hums.

“What are you doing here?” Philippe asks.

“I live here.”

“No you don’t,” Philippe says. He wonders how long this conversation will go on.

Chevy closes his eyes. When he opens them, they’re shining. “What are you doing here?”

Taking a deep breath, Philippe says. “Your family invited mine here. If I had said no, it would have been an insult.”

Chevy shakes his head, annoyed. “That’s not what I meant.”

Defiantly, Philippe asks. “Then what did you mean?”

“I meant,” Chevy says, and then, for the third time, “What are you doing here, Philippe?”

There is an edge of desperation to his voice, an edge of hysteria. Philippe knows that he has come to the end of the game. He has to tell the truth now.

“I wanted to see you,” Philippe says, then quickly adds. “I know that I don’t have a right to… tosee you. But I just couldn’t stay in that room anymore, not when you weren’t there.”

Chevy nods, his eyes clouded with confusion. “Why did you want to see me?”

“Is that a real question?” Philippe asks, instead of answering.

Chevy says nothing. He reaches into his pocket and takes out another cigarette. When he goes to light it though, Philippe reaches out a hand and takes the lighter away and throws it into the darkness.

Chevy watches it fall with disinterest. “Why did you do it?” he asks, and Philippe knows he isn’t asking about the lighter.

“I don’t know,” Philippe answers, honestly.

“Did you stop loving me?”

Philippe snorts. He doesn’t answer.

“Why did you do it?” Chevy asks again.

Philippe doesn’t have another answer for him. The first one was honest enough. Without a good enough response, he sits there in silence until Chevy sighs and stands.

“Don’t follow me,” he says.

Then he’s gone.

\--

It had happened like this.

Louis had said to Philippe that he strongly recommended Philippe break up with his boyfriend. It didn’t look good for the family, him dating a man and all, and Louis would find Philippe someone suitable to date. He’d said it in such a matter of fact way, like Philippe was able to turn off his heart just like that.

When Philippe refused, Louis had looked him straight in the eyes and said: “Either you break up with him or you’re alone.”

The point was clear; Philippe could choose Chevy and lose his family, or choose his family and lose Chevy.

Philippe had laughed. Louis had looked confused but Philippe had shaken his head. “You just don’t understand,” he’d said. “What kind of family won’t love me for who I am?”

He’d left, shaking in anger. He’d walked straight home, turned off his phone and his computer and his lights and sat in his apartment brooding. Then there’d been a knock on the door.

When he had opened it, he’d found Chevy, presenting take-out bags to him like an offering. Chevy had frowned at Philippe’s drawn face. “What’s wrong with you?”

Philippe loved him.

He’d loved him since before he knew what love was. He remembers being eight, remembers running his hands through Chevy’s long perfect curls, remembers tugging at his mother’s arm and asking, “How do I make someone marry me?”

His mother had laughed at him. “You ask them nicely.”

For so long now he’d meant to ask Chevy to marry him.

That night though, he’d kept frowning, wasn’t responsive to questions, and when Chevy prodded he’d snapped.

“I don’t want to talk to you about it,” he’d said, and his voice wasn’t loud, but it was cold. “Why don’t you just get the message?”

Chevy had grown cold too. “I’ll leave I guess.”

And when he’d left, Philippe had felt even more empty. He hadn’t gotten used to the empty feeling when Chevy had returned.

“No,” Chevy had said, barging into the room. “Tell me what’s wrong right now, or I’m leaving for good.”

Philippe had looked at him sharply, the stress of the day taking its toll. “You’d leave for something so stupid?”

Chevy had stood firm.

“Leave and don’t come back,” he said, making sure his words hurt. He was so angry, all of the sudden, at Chevy for prodding, for not understanding, for trying to get Philippe to do things Philippe didn’t want to do. Why couldn’t Chevy comfort him instead? Why couldn’t he just _know_ what was wrong? “I don’t want be with you anyways.”

This time when had Chevy left, he didn’t return. He didn’t come back the next day or the day after. Philippe called him on the third day. He didn’t respond.

On the fourth day his calls went directly to voicemail.

On the fifth Liselotte called him and told him that Chevy had said to stop calling.

On the sixth day Philippe drank so much that Liselotte had to come over and make sure he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.

On the seventh day, Louis had called Philippe.

\--

Henriette is not a demanding fake girlfriend. She only insists on being with Philippe when Louis is around, as if somehow their proximity will remind Louis that the two of them used to be an item a hundred thousand years ago. Philippe and Henriette used to be friends once. They used to sit together at galas, at political events, used to laugh and text and plot together. Philippe resents that she prefers his brother to him now. He resents it so much that the thought of seeing her makes him angry.

The good thing, though, is that she doesn’t insist they shop together, or hang out together, or really do anything together privately. Philippe wonders often how long his brother will make this charade last. He and Henriette are not a real couple and they never pretend like they are, is Louis going to try to force them to marry?

He doesn’t think he has the energy to keep going like this. He wonders whether he has the energy to refuse marrying Henriette.

It’s noon and Philippe is at Eataly, not because he particularly likes it, but because he saw the damned flat-iron building and thought, _why the hell not?_

The place is crowded. Philippe looks around at the different vendors and wonders if this place is always crowded. He walks around, hoping something will catch his eye.

Chevy had loved to come to this place. If he and Philippe were ever passing by it, he’d drag him there, pointing and cooing at things, and insist they eat in one of its restaurants. Philippe had always complained about the noise, but he’d gone there for Chevy’s sake.

He takes a right and walks towards a gelato vendor, thinking that since he’s here, he might as well get some ice cream. When he gets there he freezes. He stands there, looking at the line where Chevy stands and curses.

There are millions of people in New York City, the chances of Philippe randomly meeting onespecific person is eight million to one.

Well, Chevy does like this place for some reason.

Steeling himself, Philippe walks up to him and taps him on the shoulder.

Chevy turns, his look of surprise turning into hesitance. “Philippe?”

Philippe tries an awkward wave. “I didn’t know you were in New York.”

Chevy shrugs. “I am.”

  
“Me too,” Philippe says rather lamely. The memory of his last conversation with Chevy nags at him, and he suddenly wants to replace it, replace its ending, its content. “Do you wanna go for a walk?”

Chevy looks at him him, puzzled. “A walk here? Where would we go?”

“The park?” Philippe says hesitantly.

“I have to be somewhere soon,” Chevy says, and Philippe knows he’s lying. “But I guess we can walk.”

They walk over to the park and sit on a bench. Chevy eats his ice cream half-heartedly as Philippe looks at a man singing and playing the guitar.

“I don’t know why I did it,” Philippe finally says, turning to Chevy. People walk around them, on the street cars are honking, their tires screeching, someone shouts something crude to someone else. “I was so upset,” he continues. “Not at you, but…”

“Really?” Chevy asks. It’s not a nice really, it has disbelief in it. “Seems to me like you were looking for excuses.”

“I wasn’t,” Philippe says. He’s sincere, he hopes Chevy knows that he’s sincere. “You’re the one that threatened to leave.”

Chevy ignores what he said and sticks his spoon into the ice cream. “Seems to me like you were given orders and you were following them while trying to look innocent.”

Philippe is confused. “What?”

“Do you think you're the only one your brother tried to influence?”

Chevy puts the gelato down on the bench and turns towards Philippe. Philippe can see, suddenly, that Chevy is angry, enraged. Something in him has been set on fire and Philippe almost moves away, apprehensive.

“You know, when Louis came to me and offered me money —” he stops and laughs.“Money to break up with you, like it’s the middle ages or something, like he hasn’t known me since I was a child... I laughed at him. I told him to fuck off, to get lost. I didn’t need his money and I sure as fuck wouldn’t ever break up with you.”

Philippe hears every word that comes out of Chevy’s mouth, but his brain can’t keep up with their meaning. What Chevy is saying sounds impossible to him.

“You know what he said to me?” Chevy asks.

Dumbfounded, Philippe shakes his head.

“He said, ‘Fine, I’ll just get Philippe to break up with you.’ And I laughed at him some more. I thought, ‘Philippe would never do that. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea.’”

Philippe can feel goosebumps on his skin. The guy across from them is still playing music, cars are still driving across 23rd and Broadway, but Philippe can’t hear them.

“You know what happened two days later?” Chevy asks.

Philippe does know. He opens his mouth to say something, to defend himself, but Chevy is faster.

“You treated me like shit and you broke up with me,” Chevy says. “Just like that, your brother won again.”

Finally, Philippe has a chance to speak. “He offered you money?”

Taken aback, Chevy nods.

“And you didn’t accept it?” Philippe asks.

Chevy laughs again, a bitter angry laugh. “No I didn’t, because I fucking love you.” He stands then, and picks up his gelato. “I guess I was wrong to assume you loved me too.”

Philippe watches Chevy walk away for what feels like the thousandth time. He watches him leave, as he did that first time, until Chevy disappears behind a column of people. Then he tries to process what Chevy said to him.

Louis hadn’t approached Philippe first; he’d tried to bribe Chevy to insinuate a break-up. When that hadn’t worked, he’d come to Philippe. He’d boasted to Chevy that he’d get Philippe to break up with him…

...and to Chevy’s mind, Louis had. Philippe takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

That’s why Chevy had been so adamant to know what was bothering Philippe. That’s why he stood his ground. He’d wanted Philippe to reassure him that he would not be influenced by his brother.

Instead Philippe had done the opposite.

But then, what had Chevy just said? _“Because I fucking love you.”_ Love, not loved. Present tense, not past.

Philippe stands up slowly, decides not to return to work for the day, and calls Liselotte.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Yes?”

“Lizzie, I need some advice,” Philippe starts, and as he walks home, he tells her the whole story.

At some point during the call, Lizzie calls him an idiot affectionately. At another she listens intently while he rants about his brother. When he’s told her everything, right down to the gelato flavor Chevy was eating today — pistachio, because “ _I’m not a heathen, Philippe._ ”— she grows quiet.

“Chevy is going back to Paris tonight,” Liselotte says.

“Wait,” Philippe interjects. “You knew he was here?”

Liselotte hums in response.

“I thought he gave you up in the divorce,” Philippe says, feeling betrayed.

“He took me back?” Liselotte says, sounding apologetic. “After the fundraiser actually.”

“Traitor,” Philippe says quietly. “Should I call him?” He’s at the door to his apartment. He looks at the phone, he’s been talking to Liselotte for over an hour.

“If you want,” Liselotte says. “I’d probably advise something less impersonal.”

“Okay, what time did you say he was leaving?”

It takes Liselotte a moment to answer. “Looks like a red-eye,” she says. “It leaves at 11:25 tonight.”

Philippe thanks her and hangs up.

\--

Inside, he dials Chevy’s number and isn’t surprised when it goes to voicemail.

Philippe waits for the beep that means he can speak, takes two steadying breaths and begins. “Chev,” he says. “You said a lot of things today, and I thought a lot about all of them. And I just wanted to say that--” Philippe stops, he doesn’t know how to go on. “I mean I didn’t know that Louis did that, I didn’t know he came to you, why didn’t you say something?” He stops again, then. “If you’d just told me, I could have yelled at him, I could have done something…”

This is going nowhere, this voicemail is garbage. Philippe hangs up.

He dials Liselotte again. “What time did you say Chevy’s plane is leaving again?”

“11:25 PM,” she answers, voice clipped. “Why?”

Philippe runs a hand through his hair as the idea begins taking shape in his head. “Can you come help me find the spare keys to his apartment?”

\--

It takes them an hour to find the spare keys, then another half an hour to pack some clothes and a toothbrush, then another hour to get to Kennedy airport.

Liselotte hugs Philippe goodbye at 4 PM. His plane leaves New York at 5:25.

Philippe doesn’t sleep on the plane. He knows he should, but his brain is working too fast. He questions his decision to fly to Paris every other minute. In the middle of the flight, he’s convinced it was the stupidest idea he’s ever had. He reasons with himself that he heard Chevy wrong, that Chevy had indeed used the past tense instead of present, that he’s making a fool of himself.

His flight lands in Paris at six in the morning, exactly seven hours after it left New York. By the time Philippe gets out of the airport — he shows them his French passport instead of the American one, it’s easier that way — finds a taxi, and reaches Chevy’s apartment, it’s nearly eight and he’s exhausted.

He tries his key at the gate door and is relieved to find that it still works. Philippe glances at the old elevator, then shrugs and climbs up the steps. Chevy’s apartment is on the first floor, and Philippe reaches it with joy, but the joy turns slowly into apprehension as he tries the second key on the door.

It doesn’t work.

Chevy must have changed the locks.

“Fuck,” Philippe says and sits on the ground.

Right now it’s two AM New York time, which means Chevy is in the air. He won’t be back to his apartment until well past noon.

Banging his head softly against the door, Philippe tries to decide what to do. He could go out and have dinner —no wait breakfast, it’s morning not night. He could go check himself in a hotel then come back around one.

He doesn’t want to do that however. He wants to be here when Chevy returns, wants to be the first thing Chevy sees after he climbs up those steps.

The exhaustion catches up to Philippe as he’s debating what to do. One moment he is trying to decide, the next he’s being shaken awake softly.

“Philippe?”

Philippe opens his eyes to find Chevy kneeling above him. When his eyes catch Philippe’s he looks away.

“You’re awake,” he says. “Took you a while.”

Philippe sits up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He stands then, and picks up his bag, then looks at Chevy. “You changed your locks.”

Chevy looks sheepish for a moment. “Yeah, a couple of people downstairs had break-ins and I freaked so I changed them.”

“I see,” Philippe says, awkwardly. He hadn’t really thought this far ahead in his plans, and he stands aside as Chevy silently opens the door.

“Do you want to come in?” he asks.

Philippe nods.

Once inside, he drops his bag, takes off his shoes. Chevy drops his bag too, right next to Philippe’s. For a moment it’s like déjà vu, like one of the many times they went on a trip together and came back here, too tired to put away their belongings. Philippe nearly expects Chevy to take his hand and drag him to bed, can imagine himself falling asleep, holding Chevy close to his chest.

It’s weird how ordinary it all feels, how he misses it now that he no longer has it.

Chevy turns to him after taking off his own shoes. “Do I need to ask?” he says expectantly.

Philippe thinks for a moment, trying to put his thoughts into coherent sentences, then gives up entirely. “I love you,” he says, because it’s true. “I’ve loved you since before I knew what love was, and I think I’ll love you forever.”

Chevy opens his mouth but no words come out.

“And I’m sorry,” Philippe says, more softly. “I’m sorry I did this, I’m sorry I picked a fight with you. I didn’t know Louis had talked to you.”

This time Chevy speaks. “But he talked to you, right?”

Philippe nods. “He did, and I told him to fuck off and I left. He wanted me to choose. I was never gonna choose him.”

Philippe thinks Chevy must want to believe him, because he takes a step towards Philippe.

“And I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to worry you, but I should have told you. I should have been honest. I’m sorry, I fucked up,” Philippe continues. “But I need you to know that I love you and I didn’t listen to my brother.”

“But Henriette,” Chevy begins.

Philippe shakes his head. “I was already miserable. You weren’t picking up my calls, you told Lizzie to tell me to stop calling you. He called me and asked if I would reconsider his proposal and I said yes.”

“Oh,” Chevy says, then, quietly. “I wanted you to come after me.”

Philippe walks towards him, reaches a hand to touch his cheek like he’s wanted to for eight goddamned months. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get it.”

Chevy leans into the touch and moves closer, one arm wrapping around Philippe’s waist, the other resting on his chest. “You’ve said so many sorries today.”

Philippe drops his hand, wraps both arms around Chevy’s shoulder. Their foreheads rest against each other. “I’m hoping if I say it enough, you’ll take me back.”

Chevy laughs but there are tears in his eyes. “I thought I’d already taken you back.”

Philippe leans away, finding Chevy’s gaze and holding it. “You mean it?”

“Yes.”

Philippe smiles then, and lifts his hands from Chevy’s shoulders to cup his face. When their lips touch, Philippe can breathe again. The kiss, though chaste, lingers, because Philippe doesn’t want to let go, because Philippe is trying to put eight months of frustration, of longing, of sadness into that one kiss. He feels his heart beating fast again, but this time, when his breath is taken away, Philippe doesn’t panic, he just leans in and deepens the kiss.

“Say it again,” Chevy says once they part.

Philippe hasn’t opened his eyes yet, he says, “I’m sorry.”

“No, not that,” Chevy says. “The other thing.”

Philippe opens his eyes then, and looks at Chevy. “I love you.”

Chevy looks away, but he’s smiling. “And?”

“I’ll always love you,” Philippe says, indulgently. “And I’ve always loved you and I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

“And your brother is an asshat.”

Philippe wraps his arms around Chevy’s shoulders and hugs him tight. “That too.”

When Chevy finally pulls away, Philippe grabs his hand. “What time is it?” he asks, because he’d been napping on a threshold all morning.

“1:30,” Chevy responds, he is looking at their joined hands. “Do you want to eat or sleep?”

Philippe thinks about it for a moment, and the déjà vu returns. “Let’s sleep,” he says and lets Chevy drag him to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure why I love these assholes but I do! Well, I know why I like Liselotte, she's perfect. But the rest I'm still trying to figure out.
> 
> The hardest thing about writing this story was figuring out what to call the Chevalier. I wasn't going to use his title, because it's a modern AU, I didn't want to use his actual name cause they never call him by it in the show. I thought Chevy was a good compromise. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I can be found [here](http://waroftheposes.tumblr.com/). That's my blog come and say hello, I'm not sure whether this show has a fandom or not.


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